The Musician
by P.J Gonzales
Summary: A story about teenage angst, set in the 1950's in the city of Berlin, a young musician struggles to find acceptance in the world.


**_The Musician_**

Christoph sat in his classroom breathing in the musky air. Slumped in his chair looking out the window, he blocked out the materialistic world and everything surrounding him and noticed the beautiful day. The sky was a deep blue without a cloud in sight, which was rather rare in the usual cold, drizzly city of Berlin. He saw rolling hills in every direction as he watched the sea of blades of grass on the field move as one with the silent swaying direction of the wind. The pastel green colours of the grass, which was barely noticeable from afar was contrasted with a tinge of yellow from the sun's dominating reflection. The rhythmic movements of the grass reminded him of hundreds of lines of quavers in a music piece. The whole picture he witnessed outside the window with his naked eye was like watching a symphony at work and nature was its conductor.

Christoph was no ordinary adolescent boy; he appreciated the little things in life such as the trees, green pastures, the sweet smell of the fresh air and the birds chirping which made music to his ears. If only life was simple as well, he thought. If only people could live life without a care in the world. If only he could live his life without having anybody to judge him. If only the monotonous tone of his English teacher's voice would stop and he could think in peace. Christoph, not paying any attention, smiled at his picturesque symphony.

The teacher scanned the room full of dismal expressions and wondered what could possibly be more interesting than the fine literature works of William Shakespeare. He stopped to look at Christoph who was sitting in the front row in the corner and seemed to be the most uninterested of them all and cleared his throat. Unfortunately, he failed to attract his attention and so he strode over to his desk and stood towering over Christoph. It wasn't a few seconds later until he could see that a shadow was blocking the sunlight that had covered his desk. He turned around and saw his teacher's red face; his eyes wide open behind his half-moon spectacles. Christoph realised that all eyes were on him from all the faces he could see poking out eagerly to see what was happening behind Mr. Warsteiner's plump senior citizen's body dressed in a tacky brown coloured suit with his red polka dotted bow tie tied around of what seem to be a neck, unless there really was one under the massive amount of fat under his chin.

"And what's this?!" he asked as he took a piece of scrappy paper off Christoph's desk with one quick swift of his chubby hand. He looked deep into Christoph's innocent hazel brown eyes - even Mr. Warsteiner's rapacious personality was enough to resist Christoph's innocence.

Christoph didn't say anything and merely stared at his wobbling chin.

"Hmmm?" realising that Christoph wouldn't tell, he recited what was written on the paper in front of the classroom as he paced to and fro from one corner of the room to the next. Everyone in the classroom sniggered at hearing this utterly stupid and irrelevant piece of writing he had done, but Christoph thought otherwise and hated everybody for laughing at it.

"And what exactly do birds in the trees and fresh air have anything to do with the themes and representations of Macbeth?!" The classroom sniggered again, only louder this time. He then further went blabbering on about how Christoph never paid any attention and he'd be sending a letter home to his parents about his behaviour and if it happened again given the circumstances, would give him a detention. Christoph saw sweat forming from his red face. His head was pulsating as if it were about to explode. On that note, the school bell rang indicating the end of school.

School was never a place that Christoph learned to love over the years because of his lack of social life and his disinterest in what teachers had to say in order to educate him which, has resulted in his constant daydreaming, and throughout his years of schooling he was able to reach beyond limits of what a mind could imagine. His aloof and personal nature made him firmly believe that imagination was the key to his motivation in life as well as his sacrificial devotion to playing music. When alone, Christoph would find himself writing music or lyrics to a song, which reflected the way he felt.

He walked out the school doors and across the schoolyard where hearing from insults from fellow students was a daily routine. A boy from Christoph's English class shouted out, "No wonder you have no friends, well, no human friends that is. Do you really think that birds can talk to you?" he then laughed with his group of friends behind him. Then another boy ran shouted from behind, "Get out of our country, ya chink!"

This was nothing new to Christoph. He studied the behaviour of his fellow students and the comments they gave him and realised that they were based on his passivity and his race. Never would he have thought that they would learn to harmonise with his differences.

He couldn't help being different to his peers due to his oriental background. His mother was Chinese and had migrated to Germany where she found a job there as a maid and in due course, she found his father whom she married. Despite the country's history in racism, his father still loved his mother because of who she was and her ethnicity was never an issue of concern.

Christoph arrived at home in the suburbs and greeted his mother and father. On his way down the hall to his bedroom, his mother mentioned something about a phone call she had received from school. At this, Christoph picked up the pace as his mother rushed after him saying how rude it was to ignore her. His parents were always so astringent about complaints made by the teachers at school. He didn't care. He locked himself in his room and sat at his piano. He touched the white ivory keys with his fingertips and breathed in; knowing that playing his music would take him into a far and distant place away from all of this adversity; this discrimination; this racism. He played an A minor chord and held it for a couple of seconds as his mother cursed in Chinese, muffled from behind the door which she always did when she was angry - she hated Christoph's constant playing of the piano. His parents did not want him to spend the rest of his life devoted to music. But to Christoph, music was what he lived for and there was nothing else that would stop him from playing his music. He then broke into song as loud as possible, purposely trying to mute his mother in the background and perhaps everything that misunderstood him.


End file.
